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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29043075">How You Remind Me Of Some Spring</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool'>ineffablefool</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerkusa/pseuds/kerkusa'>kerkusa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(he's fat and that's how it is!, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, No Sex, No Smut, Other, Post-Canon, anyway weight and worthiness as a person are completely unrelated variables, change my mind [you cannot change my mind])</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:47:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,575</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29043075</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerkusa/pseuds/kerkusa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Pure plotless ace fat-positive fluff about an angel and a demon who love each other very much.  Part of the Do It With Style Reverse Bang, inspired by and featuring artwork by kerkusa!  Welcome to the Soft Zone(TM), please enjoy your visit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Aspec-friendly Good Omens, Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to the Soft Zone(TM) and to the <a href="https://do-it-with-style-events.tumblr.com/">Do It With Style</a> Reverse Bang!  ineffablefool is very pleased to bring you a story where he wrote the words, but the original inspiration -- and some lovely artwork -- came from <a href="https://kerkusa.tumblr.com">kerkusa</a>!  I picked his art submission because I wanted to write a soft thing about it, and then I wrote a soft thing.  Although that part isn't until chapter 2.</p>
<p>I hope everyone is ready for four short chapters of gentle canonverse post-apocalypse fluff, all of it completely asexual and lovingly fat-positive.  Aiming for one every Thursday until it's done!</p>
<p>I'm writing for the TV characterization, but I've decided that my written Aziraphale is visibly fat.  Tumblr and AO3 user Squeegeelicious has created <a href="https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/189282541139/squeegeelicious-a-walk-to-the-ritz-for">this absolutely gorgeous artwork</a> for my first human AU <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936816">If Not Now, When</a>, which should help you know what to visualize as you read!</p>
<p>Title is taken from <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49268/you-therefore">You, Therefore</a>, by Reginald Shepherd.  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_in_the_dark/works">Hope</a> suggested the poem to me and she was absolutely right to do so.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An autumn, at the bookshop.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was cold.</p>
<p>It was cold, and rainy, and <i>grimy</i>, all the soot and dirt of London sticking to every soggy lungful of air, and Crowley almost groaned out loud as a clammy breeze shoved him through the bookshop door.  Finally.  Traffic was almost as miserable as the weather today, and he couldn’t think of anything that sounded half so good as just sprawling out on the sofa and napping for a week.</p>
<p>Well.  There was one thing he could think of that sounded better.  Something he could even allow himself to think about, now, and wasn’t that a Heaven of a thing?</p>
<p>“We are <i>closed</i>,” someone said, and then “<i>Crowley</i>” in a very different tone.</p>
<p>“Hey.”  Crowley shuffled a few more steps in.  “Hi.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale took his own tentative step forward.  “Why, you look half-frozen, d-dear.”  His eyes widened, like his own stammer had surprised him.  “Darling.”  That seemed to settle him a bit.</p>
<p>They just stood there, Crowley with his fingers jammed into his pockets and Aziraphale with his hands clasped in front of his belly.  Awkward.  Everything was so awkward now when Crowley came over, and he hated it.  Hated the absence of the old easy banter.  Of the back-and-forth temptings and thwartings which they’d spent millennia building up into a shared language.</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s face twitched into a frown.  “Oh, this is <i>awful</i>.  Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?”</p>
<p>“Nyuh,” Crowley answered, somehow already across the room before he could think.</p>
<p>He stopped bothering to breathe as soft fingers trailed down his cheek.  As soft lips just briefly touched his.  There wasn’t any time for him to react, to kiss back, before Aziraphale was pulling away again; but that was all right, because Aziraphale looked much less nervous now.  There was even a little smile around his eyes, and a faint blush on his perfect round cheeks.</p>
<p>“You <i>are</i> half-frozen,” he said, voice almost too tender to withstand.  “Do come sit down and we’ll see about warming you up.”</p>
<p>Crowley could feel his own cheeks doing something stupid now at the thought of Aziraphale warming him up.  The thought he’d been entertaining earlier, the thought he could let himself entertain, didn’t have to push aside anymore, shove down to the bottom of his heart.  The one thing he could think of that sounded even better than a week-long nap.</p>
<p>Entertaining wasn’t the same as voicing, of course.  Wasn’t like a demon could ask an angel of the Lord for <i>snuggles</i>.  Be undignified.  And the angel might say no.</p>
<p>Or, even more terrifying to think about, the angel might say yes.</p>
<p>He followed Aziraphale to the back room on autopilot, sprawling on the sofa like usual.  Shivered a tiny bit, maybe, but it wasn’t like he was faking exactly — bloody cold, should be illegal, the mercury dropping this low, and he was technically a reptile.  Autumn in London was not his scene.  Winter, either.  Spring was on thin ice.  Metaphorically speaking.</p>
<p>Aziraphale bustled off, returning with a steaming mug which he pressed directly into Crowley’s hands.  “Your favorite recipe, I believe,” he said, eyebrow tilted up just for a moment.  “Just like it was when we met up at that cafe in —”</p>
<p>“1984,” Crowley finished for him.  The smell was just like back then, rich cocoa and the chill bite of peppermint and below it, a generous dollop of whisky.  He’d been the one to spike their mugs when Aziraphale hadn’t been looking, that day in Gloucester, and Aziraphale had been very properly scandalized by the adulteration.  Still drank the whole thing, though.</p>
<p>Crowley sipped at his now, knobbly fingers wrapped around the incongruously angelic mug.  It definitely helped, heating him from the inside, steam parting politely around his glasses and warming his face on the way by.  Didn’t do much for his outsides beyond that.  But Aziraphale had made it for him, there was only one mug of cocoa and it was for <i>Crowley</i>, served in one of the angel-wing mugs which Aziraphale had once reserved for himself, and if Crowley hadn’t already known Aziraphale lov —</p>
<p>Aziraphale lo —</p>
<p>That.  If he hadn’t already known that, after the things they’d said once the world hadn’t ended, after the things they’d already started to <i>do</i> — yeah, then the cocoa would’ve been a pretty big clue.</p>
<p>“You had that awful haircut,” Aziraphale said.  “That ridiculous mop.”</p>
<p>Crowley relaxed a little more into the sofa, letting his mouth tip up into a smirk.  “Was the peak of style, I’ll have you know.  Turned many a head walking down the street.”</p>
<p>“In pure consternation, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>And this was better, as Aziraphale rolled his eyes; this was familiar, the comfort of routine.  They’d argue and snipe without meaning anything by it at all.  Eventually they’d wander to some other subject, then another, and by the end of the evening everything would be normal.  They were friends.  Even with everything else, with this terrifying new thing that neither of them knew what to do with, they were still friends.</p>
<p>Crowley grinned.  Plunked his mug down on a side table, then slung an arm over the back of the sofa.  “Oi, ‘m not taking this from you.  That hair was a genuine <i>temptation</i> —”</p>
<p>The look on Aziraphale’s face stopped him.  Fond.  Fond, and gentle, and adoring, as he stepped closer.  As he sat down on the sofa, next to Crowley, in what was somehow starting to become his spot.</p>
<p>“It always is one, really,” he murmured.  “If... if you don’t mind my saying so.”</p>
<p>“Don’t.”  Crowley felt his face get warm again.  “Don’t mind.”</p>
<p>His arm was still draped along the top of the sofa, behind Aziraphale, now.  When he shivered again — obviously because he was still cold, practically an icicle in sunglasses today, why was November even a <i>thing</i> — his fingers just barely touched Aziraphale’s hair.</p>
<p>Aziraphale didn’t pull away.  “Finish your cocoa, dear.  I won’t have you catching your death.”</p>
<p>Crowley grimaced, made a few sounds.  There was a curl wound around one of his fingers now.  “Cocoa’s nice, but it isn’t, y’know.  It’s not as warm as...”</p>
<p>Aziraphale leaned back, just a little.</p>
<p>“Warm as...”</p>
<p>“Crowley.”</p>
<p>“Yes, angel?”</p>
<p>“I’d be willing to, ah... contribute some of my own warmth.”  Blue eyes shuttled off to the side, examined something interesting near the floor, before fixing on Crowley again.  “If you’d like.”</p>
<p>Half-frozen was left behind for completely frozen.  Except Crowley’s arm over the sofa, apparently, because it could still move.  Could still creep slowly downwards to rest across Aziraphale’s shoulders.</p>
<p>The blue eyes crinkled at him.  “I confess, I’d rather enjoy a bit of a snuggle.”</p>
<p>“H-hey,” Crowley said weakly.  “Never said I wanted <i>that</i>.  Don’t know what kind of a demon you take me for, this stuff about...”  His arm tightened, drawing him closer to Aziraphale.  His eyes closed as an arm slipped behind his back.  “...snuggling.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale had him in both arms now.  Held close to his soft chest, to the luxurious curve of his waistcoat, of the warm belly beneath.  The angel <i>radiated</i> warmth.  Comfortable, and cozy, and Crowley squeezed tighter, like he could maybe burrow himself into Aziraphale’s beautiful corporation and not come out till spring...</p>
<p>One round hand stroked through Crowley’s hair.  “There we are,” Aziraphale said, the smile clear in his voice, even if Crowley couldn’t be bothered to lift his head to see it.  “This time of year must be so hard on you, given your lovely serpent nature.”</p>
<p>Crowley made a disgruntled sound which absolutely did not come out as a purr.</p>
<p>“And it will only get worse once winter is here.”</p>
<p>The hand moved through Crowley’s hair again, then again.  Had to be some kind of thwarting, the way it was turning him into goo.</p>
<p>“Ah well,” Aziraphale sighed.  “I suppose there’s no other way around it.”</p>
<p>Crowley did lift his head now, wondering vaguely when he’d miracled away his sunglasses, and whether they’d survived the trip to wherever he’d sent them.  “‘Round what?”</p>
<p>“I’ll just have to warm you up like this every time you come over, I’m afraid.”  Aziraphale looked as stern as it was possible to do while blushing tenderly.  “And I don’t want to hear any arguments on the subject, Crowley; this is your <i>health</i> at stake.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like a lot of work,” Crowley said, letting his head drift back to Aziraphale’s chest.  “All that... not-snuggling.  ‘N what if I just can’t get warmed up?  Might end up you having to do this straight through till March.”</p>
<p>He nuzzled his face against the familiar waistcoat.  Better than an eternity of naps, this.  Better than anything.</p>
<p>Aziraphale hummed, sounding very satisfied.  “Then that,” he said, “is what I shall do.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please come by next Thursday for chapter two if you would like!  Here is a heart to thank you for reading. ❤️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An autumn, somewhere in the South Downs.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://kerkusa.tumblr.com">kerkusa</a> art :D :D :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The chill in the air had an extra bite to it this morning.  Winter hadn’t come to the South Downs quite yet, but Aziraphale could nearly feel its presence, like a half-slumbering beast crouched just over the hills to the north.</p>
<p>Of course, he had his own slumbering beast to deal with.</p>
<p>The steps creaked patiently beneath his footsteps.  The cottage was not so old as his bookshop, but it still had a number of years in its timbers, in the gentle lean of its roof; Aziraphale had learned many of its common sounds by this point, though he suspected it would keep finding ways to surprise him.</p>
<p>In the upstairs bedroom, the merest tuft of red hair poked out from a mountain of quilts.</p>
<p>“No,” said the mountain.</p>
<p>Aziraphale fought back a chuckle.  “Now, darling.  You know we had plans for today.  And since you’ll have to come out for us to accomplish any of them...”</p>
<p>“Won’t accomplish anything if I freeze.”  The mountain wriggled slightly, one thin hand emerging from the side almost too briefly to spot.  “Yep, see, regular icebox out there, it is.  Think we ought to scrap the old plans.  Make some new ones.”</p>
<p>“I suppose these new plans revolve around your staying in bed all day?”</p>
<p>The mountain made a satisfied little hum.  “Might even be room for you, too, if you don’t let in too much cold air when you join me.”</p>
<p>It was tempting, of course, and not even the sort of temptation that took a demon’s touch.  Aziraphale knew from experience that the mattress was very soft, and that Crowley’s sleepy limbs wrapped around his person would be very pleasant.  He wouldn’t sleep himself, but he could serve as a willing pillow, his own softness apparently just the thing for quieting the grumbles of even the most cantankerous serpent...</p>
<p>The cantankerous serpent would want coffee eventually, though, and he wouldn’t be getting any if they were <i>both</i> cuddled up in bed.  “I will give you five more minutes, my love.  If you aren’t up by then, I shall start on the day without you.”</p>
<p>It could have been either the ultimatum or the smell of fresh coffee which brought Crowley stumbling into the kitchen four and a half minutes later.  He headed straight for the pot in any case, not even glancing in Aziraphale’s direction.</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled down into his own Earl Grey.  Crowley might be focused on caffeine, but when he picked up the mug that had been left out for him, a brief flare of love filled the kitchen to bursting.</p>
<p>“Hmgh.”  The just-filled mug emptied again in one long series of swallows.  “Better.”</p>
<p>“I actually was thinking about a very slight change to the plan — <i>not</i> going back to bed, I’m quite determined to go mushrooming today...”</p>
<p>Crowley flapped a hand at him as he refilled his mug.</p>
<p>“...but you didn’t seem entirely sold on having dinner in town.”</p>
<p>A little frown ghosted across Crowley’s handsome face.  “You want to.  That’s good enough for me.”</p>
<p>His love throbbed stronger again before fading back to its usual oceanic surge.  It was as predictable as the tide, too; give Crowley an opportunity, and he’d provide Aziraphale with his every idle desire.</p>
<p>When Aziraphale rose from the table, Crowley slithered immediately to his side, leaning into him, coffee mug held carefully aloft.  He nuzzled into Aziraphale’s hair for a moment with a contented sound.</p>
<p>“Suppose, then, that I wasn’t sure what I wanted for dinner.”  Aziraphale slipped an arm around Crowley’s waist.  “What would you suggest?”</p>
<p>Silence filled the kitchen, warm and comfortable.  Crowley’s answer came at last in a little mumble against Aziraphale’s neck.  “Might cook you something then.  You know.  Little recipe I’ve been working on.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale felt his own heart throbbing now.</p>
<p>“Wild mushroom risotto.”</p>
<p>“You darling,” Aziraphale replied, kissing one slender cheek.  “Such faith in our hunting prowess.  What if we were to return empty-handed, hmm?”</p>
<p>Golden eyes laughed at him, then, above a grin that was wide and delighted and free.  “Spose we’d have to order out.  Fancy a pizza?”</p>
<p>Crowley slunk away, finishing his second cup of coffee with an extremely satisfied slurp.  They both knew Aziraphale’s opinion of the takeaway options around their cottage.  In fact, Aziraphale actually caught Crowley mouthing along to his impassioned speech on the subject, silently following along as he washed up at the sink.  The sight of him doing so with a soft smile teasing at his lips was so endearing that it quite stopped up the rest of the words.</p>
<p>It was unfortunate, breakfast having to be delayed long enough to kiss that serpentine smile, but unavoidable.</p>
<p>The sun was high and bright when they set out at last.  Crowley had watched Aziraphale bundle up with assiduous care, then protested mightily when a scarf found its way around his own neck.</p>
<p>(“I won’t have you freezing, dear,” Aziraphale chided.</p>
<p>“Still have time to go back to bed,” Crowley answered, even as he picked the wicker basket up from beside the door.)</p>
<p>The back of their cottage opened onto a smallish garden, with the autumn-flamed woods beyond.  Crowley had worked hard on that garden ever since they’d first acquired it.  Most of the plantings were well-established, still lush even with the season so far advanced, which was a phenomenon of great consternation to Mr Tyler down the street and thus great delight to Crowley.  The new apple sapling by the globe amaranths was practically spindly by comparison.</p>
<p>Crowley eyed it, now, as they passed.  “Made a halfway decent showing of your first summer, you have.  Don’t assume that means you can slack off now.”</p>
<p>“Crowley, it’s October.”  Aziraphale squeezed his hand, then dropped it to run careful fingers along one knobbly branch. “Let the poor thing have a rest; it’s earned it.”</p>
<p>He made sure to direct this last to Crowley, not looking away until his beloved demon colored and kicked at the path.  “Stop making my tree a <i>metaphor</i>,” Crowley mumbled.  “That’s the last thing I need, is a <i>Malus domestica</i> with literary pretensions.”</p>
<p>“It will bloom in its time, which I do mean literally.”</p>
<p>Crowley squinted at him, suspicion clear on his face, though he showed no doubt at all when Aziraphale opened his arms.  He was in them instantly, drawing close to Aziraphale’s side.  His own long arms squeezed Aziraphale around the waist with their usual snakelike grip.</p>
<p>Aziraphale leaned his head against one thin shoulder.  “And I know how very patient you can be.”</p>
<p>“Metaphor again,” Crowley said, but the smile was plain in his voice.</p>
<p>Crowley dropped the arm which held the basket, letting the other arm stay around Aziraphale’s back.  They started on their way again with no further threats for the tree.</p>
<p>“Seven years.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale made a questioning noise, and Crowley squeezed him briefly tighter.</p>
<p>“Or maybe eight.  Till it blooms.”</p>
<p>The gate at the bottom of the garden creaked open before them, then closed itself as they walked on through the gathering trees.  This time the sound Aziraphale made was certain and pleased.  “You see?  Why, that’s barely any time at all.”</p>
<p>It was a lovely day.  All the days had been so, since they’d begun spending time at the cottage; and not just the fine hot summer ones, the fresh cool spring ones.  Even the dullest, wettest autumns were lovely when spent on a sofa just big enough for two.</p>
<p>Today was cold but crisp.  Lovely weather, in addition to the lovely company.  The woods were bright gold around them, the path was soft beneath their feet, and the damp underbrush should be the perfect place to find...</p>
<p>“Bay boletes!”</p>
<p>Their smooth brown caps just peeked out from a patch of wood sorrel, and when Aziraphale squatted closer and nudged the leaves aside, he saw five delightful-looking specimens.  It wouldn’t do to take them all, of course.  They would forage one bolete here, a couple of milkcaps there.  The local wildlife deserved a nibble too.</p>
<p>“All right, let’s have a look,” Crowley sighed, kneeling down beside him.  “See if any of them are fit to be an angel’s dinner.”</p>
<p>Long fingers poked gently at the mushrooms’ caps.  “Right, you funguses.  If I see so much as a hint of a spot...”</p>
<p>Aziraphale waited patiently for Crowley to pat each of the boletes in turn, in a complicated ritual which supposedly allowed him to select the choicest specimens, and was not at all merely for fun.  The rather silly mumbled sounds Crowley made as he did so presumably aided in the process.  Aziraphale had elected not to ask.</p>
<p>“This one.”</p>
<p>“Is that your scientific conclusion?”</p>
<p>Crowley just looked at him, mouth resolutely flat.  Aziraphale matched him with the merest quirk of an eyebrow.  Then Crowley gave in with a snort of laughter.  “Regular mushroomologist, I am.  Don’t know where all this skepticism’s coming from.”</p>
<p>He slunk back upright, their harvest safely tucked away in the basket.  Aziraphale found his hand caught up just as safely, helped to his feet before Crowley’s fingers shifted to twine with his own, and he returned the gentle squeeze without the need for thought.</p>
<p>Crowley nodded towards the forest path.  “Ready for us to go on?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale leaned in just enough to kiss one autumn-cool cheek.</p>
<p>“Always,” he said.</p>
<p>“<i>Metaphor</i>,” Crowley grumbled, although he was smiling.</p>
<p class="ineff-centered">
<br/>
<i>Illustration by kerkusa (<a href="https://kerkusa.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>)</i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I didn't end up writing Crowley talking funny at the mushrooms like <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@thefunian?lang=en">this person</a> does, because it wouldn't have been in character.  But I was thinking about it.</p>
<p><b>Programming note:</b> Next week's update will likely be late, but it is indeed in progress.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Another autumn in the South Downs.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It has been a month and a half since chapter 2, but I promise this story is still alive.  💜</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley didn’t know how he kept getting roped into these things.</p>
<p>Lies.  He was perfectly aware of how, had an iron grip on the reason he was spending a perfectly good September afternoon googling up conversions between grams and ounces and spoons.  Or at least, <i>could</i> have a grip on that reason.  Any time he wanted.</p>
<p>He wandered over behind Aziraphale, threw his arms around him, squeezed him tight.  The reason for so much he did, if he was being honest, now very firmly within his grip.</p>
<p>“Do mind the knife,” Aziraphale said.  The rhythm of gentle thunking against the cutting board didn’t change.  “Could you get me the cloves, please?”</p>
<p>“Nah.”</p>
<p>“And the cinnamon, too, I suppose — I’m fairly sure I left them both on the other counter.”</p>
<p>“Not getting that either.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Aziraphale said sweetly.</p>
<p>Crowley groaned to let him know what a terrible, awful thing it was to do to him, making him let go like this.  What, no angel in his arms at all?  Illegal.  He should register a complaint.</p>
<p>The chopping continued.  Crowley got the cinnamon and the cloves.  Also the ginger, because it wasn’t a proper apple pie without ginger.</p>
<p>Aziraphale made a pleased little noise when Crowley put his arms around him again.</p>
<p>“D’you remember the first year we had apples?”</p>
<p>The words were mumbled into soft curls, and were followed by a soft chuckle that shook the soft belly under Crowley’s palms.  “I do,” Aziraphale said, voice maybe softest of all.  “You brought me the first of your harvest.  You were so very proud.”</p>
<p>That started up a burning in Crowley’s ears, but it was okay.  Pride was good.  Properly sinful, pride —</p>
<p>“I remember how you cradled that sweet new apple in your hands,” Aziraphale went on, “holding it out to me like the precious gift it was, full of all the love in your magnificent heart —”</p>
<p>Crowley’s ears had caught his face on fire, and his hair was probably next.  “Y-yeah, and, uh.  Nngh.  And you just — just ate it as-is, none of this fancy baking nonsense.”  When Aziraphale finished his slicing, Crowley reached up to grab him the mixing bowl without pausing.  “All these apple <i>pies</i>, and apple <i>muffins</i>, and apple <i>fritters</i>, and apple <i>cakes</i>...”</p>
<p>Aziraphale gave a happy little shimmy in his arms.  “And it was absolutely scrumptious.”</p>
<p>Crowley leaned a little more into the wide cushion of Aziraphale’s back.  Listened to the apple slices patter gently into the bowl, and swayed with Aziraphale’s motions as he measured and added the rest.</p>
<p>“Like it when you bake ‘em,” he mumbled.  “I grow them, and you make them into things, and they — makes you happy, eating them.  ‘N I helped.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale hummed quietly.  When he set down the mixing bowl again, Crowley could see one apple slice that hadn’t made it into the pie filling.  It lay on the cutting board in a little dusting of ginger.</p>
<p>One round hand picked it up, the other cupped beneath.  Crowley’s own hands slipped over the pretty rolls of Aziraphale’s belly, of his back, as the angel turned in his arms to face him.  Tartan-trimmed apron still pristine.  Of course.</p>
<p>Crowley closed his eyes, tongue human-looking, for now, as Aziraphale carefully deposited the apple slice on it.  No proper tastebuds on a snake’s tongue.  A good functional Jacobson’s organ was fine, sure, but it couldn’t sense the tangy-sweet flavor of apple.  Couldn’t roll around the crisp flesh and savor the ginger bite.  His tree grew odd-looking apples, lumpish and pocked, because Aziraphale insisted that he not ‘encourage’ more photogenic fruit.  Blessed things tasted amazing, though.</p>
<p>Aziraphale liked to say it was all the love that did it.  It’d been a while since Crowley had cared to argue.</p>
<p>“You’re always a great help,” Aziraphale said now.  “Well — not <i>always</i>.”  He set about readying the top crust, forming a neat latticework with decorative twists around the edges.  “But if you weren’t occasionally an absolute terror, you wouldn’t have made such a fine adversary, hmm?”</p>
<p>Crowley grinned.  “Adversary,” he said, tasting it like he had the apple; then “Husband,” he corrected.  That word had no bite at all.  Just the sweetness of <i>yes</i> and <i>yours</i> and <i>forever</i>.</p>
<p>“I see no reason the two should be mutually exclusive,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley laughed hard enough that he had to lean on the counter to stay upright.</p>
<p>Cleanup was quick once the pie was in the oven, even doing it mostly the human way like they tended to these days.  They both drifted to their own corners of the sitting room as the air filled with the warm scent of baking — Aziraphale to the sofa to read, Crowley by the fire, back to his increasingly grim-faced attempts at knitting a scarf that managed to only exist in three dimensions.  At least this latest one was only glowing a little.</p>
<p>He didn’t even have to think about it, was the thing.  Kept catching himself <i>not</i> thinking about it.  Of course Aziraphale would be there, completely lost in the same book for the millionth time, pudgy fingers turning the same pages in a slow rhythm.  Crowley could get up if he wanted and go over there and curl around him like the snake he was.  Squeeze him tight enough to maybe hold on forever.</p>
<p>He didn’t.  Stayed where he was, purling his next stitch.</p>
<p>A page rustled out of rhythm.  “Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed.  “I love you too.”</p>
<p>“Oh, ‘m I disturbing your reading?  Could dial it back if you wanted —”</p>
<p>Aziraphale fixed him with a look so arch it could hold up an aqueduct.  “What on earth could make you think I’d want that?”</p>
<p>“Change of pace?”  Crowley tried to slip a stitch and managed to briefly twist the working yarn into a very dangerous eldritch sigil.  “Could be you’re getting tired of all this devotion I’ve got over here.  You’re up to here with love, <i>long</i> for some vague disinterest...”</p>
<p>He looked up, grinning, ready to keep going, to wind Aziraphale up until just before the point where it wasn’t still fun for both of them.  Aziraphale wasn’t looking back at him, though.  Aziraphale had pulled out his watch.</p>
<p>“Oh,” he said, too innocently to be anything except sincere, “I completely forgot the pie — it’s been over forty-five minutes already —”</p>
<p>Crowley pulled up a sliver of dark energy.  “Out of the oven now.  I’ll check on it in a mo.  And no,” he added, getting up from his sprawl of limbs on the floor, “of course I didn’t miracle it perfect, before you ask.  Never hear the end of it if I did.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s eyes fixed on his above a pleased little smile.  “You know how I feel about miracled food.  It doesn’t taste right.”</p>
<p>“‘It doesn’t taste right.’”  The words might’ve been a mocking jab against Crowley’s hereditary enemy if they hadn’t been so achingly fond.</p>
<p>After a quick detour across the sitting room to kiss his hereditary enemy’s pretty curls, Crowley ambled into the kitchen, frowning at the pie on the cooling rack.  It was done, although it definitely wasn’t perfect.  Sort of bubbled up burnt at one edge.  Nothing like golden brown at the other.  Most of it looked to have turned out good, though, and the smell of it was amazing.  It’d go exactly right with dinner.</p>
<p>Crowley clicked the oven off.  “Think we’ll need Mel to come by and take another look,” he called towards the sitting room.</p>
<p>“Is it heating unevenly again?”</p>
<p>“Not s’bad, but yeah.”  He stuck his head in the fridge long enough to grab the milk.  “It <i>is</i> still an option to just get a new one.”</p>
<p>It was the same old argument, the one that wasn’t even really an argument except that sometimes arguing was just fun.  Crowley could hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice from here when he tutted.  “Not everything has to be a chrome-plated modern monstrosity.  I’m sure if we let her at our perfectly serviceable vintage stove, she’ll have it tip-top again in no time.”</p>
<p>“Oh, ‘vintage’? What, about the same ‘vintage’ as when the humans invented wine?”</p>
<p>Spoons and pans and things clattered again, but at least this recipe was simpler.  Only used the gas hob.</p>
<p>“You’re a menace,” Aziraphale replied placidly.  “She probably won’t take monetary compensation any more than the last time, but she might welcome an evening or two of childcare.”</p>
<p>Crowley nodded, eyeing the bit of garden he could see through the kitchen window and making notes for later.  “Wouldn’t mind it myself.”</p>
<p>“And since you’re apparently now the children’s favorite babysitter...”</p>
<p>“Only because I’m a bad influence on ‘em, that’s all.”</p>
<p>“I believe it was young Michael,” Aziraphale’s voice continued mercilessly, “who opined that you bandage up skinned knees better than either of his mothers.”</p>
<p>Crowley paused in his stirring.  “Mikey is a snitch.”</p>
<p>“Oh, his siblings have just as darling things to say about you, I’m afraid.”</p>
<p>There wasn’t any point in fighting the smile, so Crowley let it be.  No one else in the kitchen to see it, or the little glow of pride from a job well done, no doubt all <i>kinds</i> of envy taking root in Mikey’s mums’ hearts.</p>
<p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale called in a different tone, and a book thumped gently shut.  “What are you up to in there?”</p>
<p>“Secret things, and you stay right where you are, ‘less you want to spoil the surprise.”  Mugs down from the shelf, stove clicked off again.  Crowley worked through the last few steps, grinning, listening to the happily excited noise that mentioning a surprise had earned him.  “Nosy, you are.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s response to that was less excited and more indignant.</p>
<p>“Right, my mistake.  Wiles, thwarting, something something vigilance.”</p>
<p>Crowley stepped back into the sitting room and Aziraphale was there.  Of course he was.  Waiting patiently, eyes lighting up, now, as Crowley raised one of the mugs he carried.</p>
<p>“Cocoa!  This <i>is</i> a surprise.”  Aziraphale set his book aside, reaching out to accept one of the angel-wing mugs.  “Thank you, dearest.”</p>
<p>Crowley flopped down beside him.  Cradled his own mug in both hands, wondered whether it was worth making a fuss about being thanked —</p>
<p>When warmth settled across his shoulders, he decided the answer was no.  Much better to let himself be drawn closer, Aziraphale’s arm soft around him, Aziraphale’s body soft beside him.  He nuzzled deeper into that softness, wriggling to curl up as much of himself against his husband as he could.  Tried not to spill any cocoa while doing it.</p>
<p>There was a gentle ticking noise.  Rain, Crowley realized, blown against the windowpane.</p>
<p>“You know...”  Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s shoulder, slow and soothing.  “I believe we’re only missing one thing.”</p>
<p>Crowley looked up at him.  “Room’s warm.  Cocoa’s just the way you like it, sofa’s comfy.”</p>
<p>“All true,” Aziraphale allowed.</p>
<p>“‘N there’s us.”</p>
<p>This time Aziraphale smiled softly.  “So there is.”</p>
<p>“Well, there, then.”  Crowley breathed in the steam from his cocoa.  “Nothing missing.  Everything I ever need, right here.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale squeezed him tighter for a moment.  Then he gestured, and the steam rising from Crowley’s mug smelled very different.</p>
<p>“A nip of good whisky,” he said softly.  “Just the way <i>you</i> like it.”</p>
<p>Something huge turned over in Crowley’s chest.  “Angel.”</p>
<p>The smell filled his lungs, rich cocoa, the chill bite of peppermint.  The whisky below all of that.</p>
<p>“I love you,” he said, even though he didn’t really need to.  Aziraphale could tell, could sense it even when Crowley was asleep, but — but he did need to.  Something in him would burst if he didn’t.  “Always love you.”</p>
<p>The beautiful curve of Aziraphale’s waistcoat rose and fell on a deep breath.  “I will always love you, too,” he murmured.</p>
<p>They sipped at their cocoa, letting the rain tap against the window, the autumn afternoon drift by.  There’d be more afternoons, thousands of them. Millions.  Autumns and winters and fresh-blooming springs.</p>
<p>“So apple fritters tomorrow?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughed, a quiet rumbling sound.  “That does sound <i>tempting</i>,” he answered.  Then he giggled at his own terrible joke.</p>
<p>Crowley still meant what he’d said, miracled whisky or no.  <i>Absolutely horrendous jokes</i> or no.</p>
<p>He had everything he’d ever need, right here.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There will be one more chapter before this story is complete!  Meanwhile, I will leave this box of hugs here, and anyone who likes may take one. 📦 (there is apparently no open-box emoji but let us pretend that this one is)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A spring, somewhere in the South Downs.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It is only softness here, today.  Take a deep breath if you like.  Let it out slowly.  I believe in you.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The world was still here, and it was good.</p>
<p>Life had returned to their garden, tender green shoots unfurling with remarkable speed into robust stems, into glossy leaves and flourishing blooms.  Aziraphale knew most of their names by now.  They were old friends — the shooting stars tucked alongside the path; the heliotropes circling some of the trees; the clever dogwood shrubs with their bright red stems set against a stone wall grown nearly over with moonflower...</p>
<p>Half of them weren’t supposed to be able to grow here, of course, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.</p>
<p>Crowley’s voice drifted back on a puff of breeze.  It wasn’t until Aziraphale got past the rose arbor that he was able to make out some of the words, although, of course, he already had some idea from the tone.</p>
<p>“And you!  Look at these weak stems!”  There was a pause, perhaps while Crowley mumbled something more quietly, then a scoff.  “What, you too?  Am I really going to have to deal with all of you?  You <i>know</i> what happens to plants that grow <i>weak stems</i>...”</p>
<p>Aziraphale found him crouched amongst the forget-me-nots, gleaming shears in hand.</p>
<p>“Brought this on yourselves, didn’t you?  And here come the consequences.  It’s too late, you’re not getting out of this.”</p>
<p>Graceful fingers trailed over one of the offending stalks, seeking out its most vulnerable places.  Then Crowley hummed in triumph, moving in with the shears, positioning just so and cutting —</p>
<p>“No, of course the others won’t make fun of you,” he told the plant as he finished tying it to the support stake.  “‘S no making fun of assistive devices here.  I won’t stand for it.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale cleared his throat.  “Everything all right out here, my dearest?”</p>
<p>“Couple of troublemakers, but I’ll have ’em back in line by summer.”  Crowley snipped another length of bamboo to form support for the next plant.  “They all figure out soon enough that the only way to keep a place in <i>this</i> garden —” his voice rose momentarily, addressing the flora around them — “is to do their best.  I won’t coddle plants that don’t <i>try</i>.”</p>
<p>Various stems and leaves fluttered gently, as if nodding.  Although perhaps that was merely the wind.</p>
<p>“Still,” Crowley grunted, unfolding himself from the ground and sweeping errant curls back from his face, “it’s a good lot this year.  New plantings doing well...”</p>
<p>He slipped an arm around Aziraphale, pointing with the other.  “The Heliconia is coming back beautifully, no complaints there.  And the hawthorn, but she’s a tough old bird.”</p>
<p>“She certainly has been a stalwart companion,” Aziraphale said agreeably.  He let Crowley lead him onward, the hand on his side a welcome, steady pressure.  “I noticed that the agapanthus are positively thriving.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s eyes lit up, the irises growing as he gestured wildly with his free hand.  “Couldn’t hold them back if I tried!  At this rate they’ll be blooming by May, could go six months if I keep up with the deadheading, it’s fantastic.  <i>So</i> proud of them.”</p>
<p>The foliage rustled again.</p>
<p>“Course I’m proud of all of you,” Crowley told their surroundings.  “Didn’t figure I had to say it every blessed time.”</p>
<p>By now they’d reached the patch of globe amaranth.  Crowley had confessed their meaning once, wound sleepily around Aziraphale in their bed.  Unfading love.  He’d read it in some book ages ago, apparently, long before it had been safe to act on the knowledge, but he’d never forgotten it.</p>
<p>(Aziraphale had smoothed a lock of red hair back from his husband’s forehead.  “What’s the significance of the protea, then?”</p>
<p>“Y — wh — not everything’s got <i>significance</i>.”  Crowley had nuzzled even closer, the rest of his words muffled against Aziraphale’s chest.  “Some of them just look nice.”)</p>
<p>Since then, the amaranths had reseeded faithfully every year.  The descendants of Crowley’s original plantings still bore the fuzz of new growth, but they’d be fine and tall by summer, decked with violet blooms which would draw veritable swarms of butterflies.</p>
<p>“This one’s the real surprise,” Crowley said now.  He squeezed tighter for a moment, then let go of Aziraphale to drop down beside a small cluster of leaves.  “Pretty sure it’s <i>Clematis vitalba</i>.  Traveller’s joy.  Didn’t plant it, it’s volunteered from somewhere, probably figured it could just ride on everyone else’s coattails” — the last directed to the new plant — “but it’ll learn.”</p>
<p>The breeze freshened, tugging at Crowley’s long hair and spilling blossoms from the apple tree.  He lifted his face to it and smiled, eyes slipping closed, and the lines that kissed his skin deepened in patterns that were becoming wonderfully familiar: peace, comfort, serenity.  Joy.</p>
<p>Soft white petals landed in Crowley’s hair, and he was beautiful.</p>
<p>He would, of course, if the topic were to be broached, say that Aziraphale was the beautiful one — had done already, both with and without words.  His eyes and hands and gentle lips had blessed nearly every inch of Aziraphale’s corporation.  To hear Crowley tell it, the sum of loveliness was this face, these close-cropped curls; it was this rounded body, known and loved since the world was new.  It was millennia of a slow dance between longing and fear and the aching need to protect.</p>
<p>But Crowley was also beautiful.  His was the beauty of bright serpent’s eyes, of a sharp-boned face and a sharp-edged grin, and a sharp figure cut in whatever was the fashion at the time.  Of the sun striking fire on long, shining hair.</p>
<p>Of a soul that had been hurt so badly for so long that it was just beginning to trust in something else beyond the hurt.</p>
<p>Crowley knelt in the warm earth, adorned in flowers like some fey, half-wild thing.  He laughed, light and free.</p>
<p>“Darling?”</p>
<p>“Snuck into the garden, it did.  Maybe looking to make some trouble.”  He eyed Aziraphale with a grin still hovering around his mouth.  “I wonder who’s on apple tree duty this time ‘round?”</p>
<p>It wouldn’t have been possible for Aziraphale to block out the sensation of Crowley’s love even if he wanted to, but he did sometimes let it sink back to a soothing background hum.  Now he opened himself to it again.  Something like a brilliant unseen aura blazed around Crowley as he stood to meet the embrace that waited for him.</p>
<p>“I seem to recall a very charming demon saying he was <i>against</i> making the plants into metaphors.”  Aziraphale felt Crowley’s arms draw tight around his waist; felt Crowley’s love flare bright around them both.  “Right here in this very garden.”</p>
<p>“‘S that right?  And what were you doing with this demon in our garden, angel?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale went up on his toes just long enough to kiss the corner of the very charming demon’s mouth.  “Being in love with him, I think.”</p>
<p>Crowley pulled him impossibly closer, face buried in the fluff of his hair.  That sightless soundless thing around them filled in for his silence.  It formed a wave of devotion so huge, so powerful, that it might very well have been visible all the way from Heaven.</p>
<p>In his more spiteful moments, Aziraphale rather hoped it was.</p>
<p>“You’re very beautiful,” he murmured against Crowley’s shoulder.  “Always, but especially here.  It feels right, watching you tend the garden.”</p>
<p>“<i>Our</i> garden,” said Crowley.</p>
<p>“It feels like home.”</p>
<p>There were no arguments, no protests of oversentimentality.  There was only the truth which was left when all those had run their course.</p>
<p>“Our home,” Crowley said, voice quiet by his ear.  “Anywhere we are.  We’ll make it our home, me ‘n you.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale drew back slightly, just enough to see Crowley’s face again, to revel in his tender expression, and then he lifted his arms to cradle that face in his hands.  “For now I’d like to stay right here, but — yes.  My home will always be where you are.”</p>
<p>The arch of cheekbones and contour of jaw shifted under his palms as Crowley smiled.  “Wrong about one thing, though.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Aziraphale said innocently.  “I really can’t think what that might be.”</p>
<p>Crowley kissed him, a momentary press of lips, and then he grinned like the utter fiend he was.  “<i>You’re</i> the beauty around here.  I’m the brains.”</p>
<p>The obvious response would be to respond with nearly theatrical skepticism.  Aziraphale would make a very pointed remark on the likelihood of Crowley being <i>the brains</i> of anything.  Crowley would affect great indignation.  They might trade wits for a few rounds, the back-and-forth which no one else in six thousand years had quite been able to match, until eventually one or the other would concede.</p>
<p>They’d left behind the need to show their affections in such indirect ways, which made it a choice, and a delightful one.  Perhaps tomorrow Aziraphale would rise to the bait.</p>
<p>“You brilliant thing,” he said now, instead.  “Tell me more about your plans for where the blackthorns were.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s love bloomed as warm and sweet as his smile.  “Oh, my angel, you’ll love it.”  He took Aziraphale’s hands, and Aziraphale gladly let himself be led through the garden; he’d follow, after all, anywhere Crowley might want to go.  “See, I know you like pears...”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And now we'll leave them to it, I think.  The next years and decades and centuries will probably be much the same.</p>
<p>I am (again, still) very grateful to <a href="https://kerkusa.tumblr.com/">kerkusa</a> for the initial drawing which got me thinking about seasonal ineffable softness.  This fic would not have existed without it!  I'm also grateful to anyone who waited patiently while I worked through a difficult mental health period.  I have lovely swallowable one-a-day friends who are helping me now.</p>
<p>Finally -- as Crowley says, not everything's got <i>significance</i>.  Some plants I chose to mention in this chapter because they're pretty, or very not suited to non-miraculous UK gardens, or both.  But where significance exists, it's according to <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/31591/31591-h/31591-h.htm">my usual source</a>.</p>
<p>Stay tuned to my Tumblr for the most up-to-date info on what's coming next.  I don't actually know yet myself!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!</p>
<p>If you want, you can say hi on Tumblr to <a href="https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com">the writer</a> or <a href="https://kerkusa.tumblr.com">the artist</a>.  Also kerkusa has <a href="https://kerkusa.carrd.co/">a store</a>!  ineffablefool does not need your money (and/or is too lazy to maintain a store plus what would he even sell?), but he'd be happy if you gave his co-conspirator some love.</p>
<p>This emoji duck hopes you're having a fantastic day, because you deserve it just for being you: 🦆</p></blockquote></div></div>
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